The Lost Hat

On my previous trip to Italy, I’d reached the airport and was on the escalator when I realised that I’d left my hat on the airport bus. I turned round and went down again, only to see the bus just pulling away. What to do? It was my favourite hat.

I sprinted over to the row of windows where you buy bus tickets, not expecting anyone to be remotely interested, but I was wrong. A young man consulted a list of bus drivers and rang a number to speak to the driver of my bus. (I’ll willingly overlook the fact that he answered his telefonino whilst driving.) The driver agreed that he’d check where I was sitting when he reached the next bus stop. I waited. He found it! The trouble was, the bus wouldn’t be back at the airport for another hour and I couldn’t hang around.

“Could you keep it for me until my next trip?” I asked doubtfully.

Certo, signora!”

I wasn’t convinced, but sure enough two days ago I was presented with a parcel for La Signora Robinson. I take back all my complaints about Italian inefficiency. My faith is restored.

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2 Responses to The Lost Hat

  1. pat flint says:

    The mustard seed bears fruit! (or faith , as it were!)PF

    • Myra says:

      Not too sure I understand this! Too subtle for me! Connection with my hat and mustard seeds could be interesting!